I'll Be Seeing You
by Darling Pretty
Summary: Sometimes a person we love very much, through no fault of their own, can't see past the end of their nose and even the best laid plans will go awry.
1. Prologue

**Yep! A new story. But this one comes with a reason to follow me on tumblr (link on my profile). You see, I've teamed up with a wonderful artist over there and this story is BEING ILLUSTRATED. (And I'm more than a little excited about it!) But the pictures, alas, must stay on tumblr. So therefore, you should mosey on over there and check it out.**

**I own nothing.**

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Mary twists the diamond ring on her finger nervously. It's a bit ostentatious for her taste, but it had made her fiancé happy to see such a precious family heirloom on her finger, so she couldn't possibly complain. Her fingers travel upwards and start to fidget with the lace of her sleeve.

She takes a deep breath and reminds herself that it's perfectly normal for a bride to be nervous on her wedding day, expected even. She hears the first notes of the music she had selected to walk down the aisle to. Granted, she would have been happy with a small ceremony at the magistrate's office, but he had so wanted to show her off and who was she to deny that? She certainly doesn't mind being admired.

There's a ripple of anticipation right before Mary takes a deep breath and steps into the church. When she does, there's a soft sigh as the women all take her in. She smiles, taking care that her beaming grin will hide any and all nerves in her eyes. The dress does a fine job of hiding the tremor in her knees. She keeps her eyes focused on the floor in front of her; the last thing she needs is to be sent sprawling in the middle of her own wedding. She nods and smiles at those whose seats line aisle and makes a mental note to write them all thank you notes for their attendance.

She doesn't look beyond the aisle, afraid of who she might see there. Or who she won't. She had extended him an invitation to be polite, but now she rather wishes she hadn't.

Finally she reaches the altar. Squaring her shoulders, she daintily picks up the silk skirt and comes to stand by her groom. Her solid, predictable, steady groom. Tamping down the panic she is starting to feel, she takes his hand and gives a shaky smile.

His sandy blond hair is slicked back to perfection and his green eyes sparkle at her. Not a single hair out of place, just as Mary likes it. She reminds herself what this man represents: a new start, a certain future, comfort and stability. All things she needs terribly in her life. She is certain she is doing the right thing for herself.

But even as she says her vows, she can't shake the feeling that in marrying Alastair Fleming, she is marrying the wrong man entirely.


	2. Chapter 1

**I apologize for this. I really have no excuse other than I am sick and twisted.**

**Also, I own nothing.**

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_The day is cold and rainy, to be expected in London at the beginning of November, but Mary can't help but feel cross. It's her first day off in a month—an unexpected incident in the household had required her attention the Tuesday before last—and she has been looking forward to spending time with Bert. She's barely seen him lately. When she has time to herself, he's been busy with engagements that simply can't be rescheduled. She isn't thrilled that the weather will force them indoors where there can be very little privacy._

_Her thoughts are so focuses on the unpleasant weather that she doesn't notice the hand that shoots out of an alley to grab her wrist and pull her out of sight of the street. Just as she opens her mouth to scream, she recognizes the broad shoulders, the shape of the face, and most of all, the sparkling eyes. "Bert!" she chides. "You frightened me!"_

_He looks concerned. "Did I? I'm sorry, Mary, I only meant t' surprise you, I didn't mean t' scare."_

_"I just wasn't paying attention is all," she explains. "You surprised me."_

_He grins. "Well, now that I 'ave your attention." He dips his head and begins to kiss her._

_For a moment, she allows herself to be swept up in it. The feel of his body pressed up against hers is so sensational, his hands on her waist so gently proprietary, his lips on hers so urgently filled with desire. She can't help but meet his kiss with equal fervor. She had known that she missed his company, but she hadn't realized just how much she missed the simple feeling of his body near hers. _

_Only when he gently presses her to the nearest wall does she remember herself. The shock of hard brick on her back reins her mind back in. Pulling away, she coughs and straightens her hat. "That will be_ quite_ enough of that, thank you."_

_He grins and makes another grab for her. "I'll never 'ave enough of you, love," he promises earnestly._

_She laughs and neatly steps out of his range, back out into the street. He pouts good-naturedly but quickly steps up to take her arm. His hand brushes lightly over the small of her back and she suddenly appreciates that the weather will force them indoors, into areas with constant supervision. Given that his touch today had her behaving in such a wanton manner—in an alley, of all places. Really, could she have behaved more commonly?—she really can't begin to fathom what might occur in one of his drawings. He has such skill with chalk and the scenery is always beautiful. And when it's a drawing meant just for the two of them, there is something so very intimate in the way it is so lovingly crafted. She is glad not to have to deal with that atmosphere today; she really couldn't say how she might behave in such a private setting. And that simply will not do._

_Still, at the end of the day, after they've gone to tea and had a marvelous time picking through various shops, Mary allows him once again to pull her under the eaves of a building, out of sight from the street, and kiss her positively silly._

_The smile on her face hadn't fully dissipated for nearly a week._

"What was that?" Mary asks, noticing that she is being looked at expectantly. "I beg your pardon, I was… reflecting."

If Alistair notices her pause, he doesn't give any hint. "I was simply wondering how a dunce such as I managed the luck to end up married to such a stunning beauty such as yourself."

Gallantly, he takes her hand in his and raises it to his lips, brushing his mouth against her knuckles and the new gold band that rests on her finger next to his great-grandmother's ring. Mary does her best to smile and shake off her thoughts. It is wholly inappropriate for her to be thinking of anything but her new husband right now. He begins to kiss his way up her arm and the driver of the car tactfully keeps his eyes focused on the road in front of them. She squirms uncomfortably. Had Bert done the very same thing, he would have left a trail of fire in his wake, but there's none of his earnest passion in her new husband's kisses. Alistair's kisses are an expression of his personality: warm and generous but methodical and careful. He has figured out precisely where to kiss her to make for a most pleasant experience. She sighs, a bit impatiently, but he takes it as one of contentment.

There is nothing of Bert in Alistair, which is one of the first things that made him attractive to Mary. He's a tenured professor, wealthy in his own right, and ambitious nearly to a fault. He is generous and charming, but in a very suave, sophisticated way. And Mary does appreciate those qualities. His education, charm, and wit have all combined to make him an excellent conversation partner. They're well-matched in taste as well as in social standing and temperament.

Still, Mary can't help but feel the difference in his kisses. When Alistair kisses her, it's reverential, nearly worshipping her lips or skin. Bert's kisses had been different, urgent, passionate, almost sloppy, as if he couldn't care less about her outer trappings, he wanted to somehow directly kiss her soul.

"Darling!" she exclaims with a surprised laugh as Alistair's lips reach the base of her neck. She pulls away. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

"Well, who could possibly blame me in the face of such temptation?" he says, making a mockery of innocence, his green eyes glowing playfully as he continues his exploration of neck.

"Darling, you'll scandalize the driver," Mary scolds, pushing him away gently.

"You're right," he sighs. "I suppose I shall just have to wait to see if those lips of yours taste nearly as wonderful as they look."

In spite of the terribly overworked line, he gives her a boyish grin that reminds her not to take him too seriously. She has to laugh. "We're nearly to the train station. Surely you can wait a few short minutes to satisfy your curiosity."

"Only if we put a sack over your head," he answers gravely. "For I fear your lovely face far too tempting!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to make do," she comments. "I don't think the station master will look kindly on women being paraded through his station with sacks on their heads. Even women with their husbands on their wedding tour."

He kisses her cheek quickly. "You're right, love."

Mary stiffens at the endearment. "Please don't call me that."

He frowns. "What? Love?"

"Yes. It just brings up some… unpleasant memories I would prefer stay buried."

He brainstorms for a few minutes. "How about my queen? You most certainly rule my heart."

Mary chuckles. "I believe I shall have to smack you if you call me your queen."

"Well, if I can't call you love and I can't call you my queen, what _can _I call you?"

"I believe Mary should suffice."

"Oh, Mary. My dear, sweet, sensible Mary. Well, I suppose as long as I can call you mine, I don't mind not having something to call you by!"

Mary hides her discomfort with a charming laugh. The car pulls up to the station and Alistair helps her out.

There's a group of well-wishers from the reception on the platform. Mary nearly has a fit when she sees a man with a familiar build and unkempt hair. But upon closer inspection, it isn't Bert, and so she breathes easily when she takes Alistair's hand as the climb on the train and wave goodbye to their friends.


	3. Chapter 2

**Also, I own nothing.**

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_"I've raised you better than this, Mary. Your mother has raised you better than this! We've raised you for great things! We've given you every opportunity, every advantage and you've put that all in jeopardy! I hardly recognize you anymore. You've become selfish! I will not have my only daughter throwing her hard work, her _life_, away on some… common lowlife!"_

_Mary rides out her father's tirade in stony silence. She can feel her lower lip start to tremble and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She waits until she's quite sure he's finished and that she can speak without tears to open her mouth. "I'm afraid that isn't your decision to make, Father," she says as firmly as she can. "You may have control of many things in my life, but whom I shall love is not one of them. And that 'common lowlife,' as you so tactfully put it, is far better a man than you or any of your friends could hope to be. I appreciate what you and Mother have done for me, the home you've provided and the advantages you've given me, but it is time for me to make my own choices. And I choose Bert. You may scream about that as much as you'd like, you may threaten to take my magic, to take away the families I care for, but I_ will_ choose him."_

_She turns on her heels and hurries to grab her carpetbag and umbrella, desperate to get out of her childhood home before she breaks into tears._

_"Mary Elizabeth," her father's voice booms, his own magic freezing her in her tracks, "if you walk out of that door, you will be forfeiting your inheritance, your home, and, most importantly, your place in this family."_

_Mary turns back around slowly. "Father, I may be forfeiting my inheritance and place here, but the one thing I can never forfeit is my home. My home is wherever the man I love is. And that isn't here. Goodbye, Father. I had so hoped we'd part on better terms."_

_She doesn't let him get the last word, hurrying out the door before she can show how upset she is. She's too upset to operate her umbrella successfully, so she all but runs across town until she comes to the door she's looking for. Banging urgently, she keeps at knocking until Bert comes to answer it, looking quite confused._

_He gets out "Mar-"before she cries his name, crashes her lips to hers, and pushes him back into his flat, the door falling closed behind them. He lives in a studio apartment, so it doesn't take much for her to make him stumble backwards onto her bed, pulling her with him._

_He manages to free himself from the attack of her lips and looks at her, concern and confusion evident in his eyes. "Mary, what are you doing?"_

_"Kissing you," she responds easily and returns to her task. She just wants to be sure of him, to know that she's made the correct decision. She wants him to be hers, she wants to be his._

_"Love," he says, struggling to get the words out between her kisses and with her full weight on top of him. "What's goin' on 'ere?"_

_She doesn't look him in the eye, certain that if she does she'll start crying. She just wants him to kiss her, to make her forget the unpleasant way she parted with her father. "Bert," she breathes, "shut up and kiss me. Please."_

_"Not until you tell me what's wrong!"_

_"There's nothing wrong," she lies. She gives him her best playful pout and, when he won't bring his lips to hers, kisses him yet again, trying to make it as enticing as possible. "I just want you. Is that criminal? Don't make me beg, Bert."_

_She feels guilty about the mix of confusion, worry, and arousal that reads all over his face, but she can't worry about it right now. "Don't you want me?" she whispers. She had intended it to come out playful and sexy, but she makes the mistake of looking at his eyes and the words are strangled by the lump in her throat. If Bert doesn't want her, she has no one._

_He swallows, but hearing the tremor in her voice, he pushes her off of him and pulls her into a tight hug. "Of course I do, Mary. I've wanted you… I've wanted y' since th' first day I laid eyes on yeh. But not like this, love. Not with you so upset you're almost in tears. What's 'appened?"_

_When he pulls her hand to his mouth and brushes her knuckles with his lips, Mary loses her composure. The gesture is so gentle and caring that she finds herself sobbing the story of her fight with her father into his shirt. Bert just listens carefully, extracting bits and pieces out of her breathless cries, just enough to piece together the story._

_"Mary," he comments when she's finished. "You are an extraordinary woman."_

_She laughs an awful, soaked sort of laugh that really is probably closer to a sob than anything._

_"No, really, Mary. I've never met anyone as strong an' caring as you."_

_"And yet somehow, I've managed to lose my entire family in one fell swoop."_

_He tilts her chin up so she'll look at him. "No, you 'aven't. You 'n me, Mary, no matter what 'appens, we're family. You're my 'ome more 'n four walls an' a roof could ever 'ope t' be. Where you are, that's where my 'eart is an' that's 'ome. I love you."_

_"Oh, Bert," she sighs and pulls him into a tight embrace._

_"You look tired, love. Get some rest. We'll figure out th' rest later."_

_She normally would fight his direction, but the full force of her exhaustion hits her and she acquiesces. "Bert?" she says quietly as she drifts off._

_"Mmhmm?"_

_"Please don't leave me."_

_He wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her so her back presses into his chest. "Never, love," he promises. "Not even th' King of England could tear me away from you."_

_When she wakes the next morning, he's still there, curled around her as if he might protect her from all harm._

Mary shoots up in bed, her breath heavy and erratic. That wasn't fair of her subconscious at all, shooting the memory of the only other time she had ever shared a man's bed into her dreams. Glancing at her husband's sleeping form, she carefully crawls out of bed and dresses quietly. The hotel they're staying at has a balcony and she's incredibly thankful for that. She needs to get out of this room; she's suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The walls are too close, the windows too small, Alistair far too near. She can hear him breathing.

She rushes out onto the balcony and closes the door behind her, taking big, gulping breaths to try to calm herself. The more she calms her breathing though, the more she feels as if she's made some sort of terrible mistake.

"Oh, come now, Mary," she admonishes herself quietly. "What is there to feel guilty about?"

The answer comes to her mind quicker than she can say the question: Bert.

She sighs and leans on the railing, beginning to lecture herself in her head.

There is nothing to feel guilty about. Bert doesn't love her anymore. He is happy and she is not to ruin that. Alistair has been nothing but wonderful to her. He's charming, sweet, and funny. He has enough money to take care of her and has never pushed her to do anything. He loves her.

Mary sits down in one of the chairs nearby and curls her knees up to her chest. Staring up at the moon, she wonders what Bert might be doing. He hadn't even bothered to respond to the invitation to her wedding. Of course, there was absolutely no reason he should come. They hadn't parted on good terms. Still a response would have been nice.

But as hard as she tries, Mary can't get him out of her head. Looking up at the moon, she sighs and admits it to herself. She cares deeply for Alistair and wants to make him happy. She might even love him. But, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, she is still madly, deeply in love with a man who hasn't given her a thought in nearly three years.

Somewhere on a rooftop in London, Bert looks up at the sky, wondering if Mary Poppins might be staring at the moon too._  
_


	4. Chapter 3

**I own nothing.**

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"Sleep well, love?"

Mary looks up from her paper in annoyance. "I've asked you not to call me that."

"Sorry," Alistair apologizes, kissing her hair. "It slips out sometimes. I apologize and I'll rectify the situation."

She rolls her eyes and laughs at his little stiff speech. In the three months since their marriage, she's come to accept, even enjoy, her husband's oddly formal way of speaking.

After her panic on the balcony, Mary had started to reflect on everything and come to a decision. She had made a promise, taken a vow, and she had to do her best to honor that. It gets easier to do with each passing day. It's hard not to care for someone who loves you as much as Alistair loves Mary. He believes her to be the best thing that's ever happened to him and isn't shy to say so. Sometimes his displays of affection embarrass Mary, but for the most part, it's nice to be so secure in his affections.

"So what is your plan, my lovely wife? I can call you my wife, right?" Alistair teases. "That's still an option available to me? Or does that also have some unspeakable tragedy attached to it?"

Mary rolls her eyes again. "Of course you may call me your wife. That _is _my label, is it not? Unless you've suddenly changed your mind about this marriage."

"Certainly not!" he exclaims, sounding horrified.

Mary laughs. "Well, that's certainly comforting. I was just beginning to get used to people calling me Mrs. Fleming. It would be incredibly annoying to get used to being called Miss Poppins again. Especially when I've just bought new stationary."

He grins. "Well, Mrs. Fleming, you'll be happy to know I have no intention of divorcing you. Not now, not never."

"I'm glad to hear it," she says.

"So what are your plans for today? Aside from missing me _dreadfully,_ of course," he asks, giving her a cheeky wink.

"Well, you know, pining away does take most of my time," Mary responds, refusing to rise to his bait. "But I thought today I'd work in the garden."

She hasn't gone back to work as a nanny, choosing instead to work at being married. It isn't as if they need the extra income. She feels a bit empty without the families to work with, but it's important to her that she do her best to make this marriage work. In a month or two, she'll reconsider her options.

Still, Alistair has so much work with his classes that she needs to do something to fill her time. She's found gardening to be a decent way to do that. The physical labor leaves a warm exhaustion in its wake.

After weeding several flower beds in their not unsubstantial yard, Mary turns to begin watering the plants, filling a watering pail from a spigot near the back door.

She hadn't slept well the night before. That explains her jumpiness around Alistair this morning. She's tired and it's throwing her; it has nothing to do with the memory that had presented itself as a dream last night.

_"You're leaving?" Bert asks, his arms crossed as he leans on the doorframe. "Again?"_

_"I don't understand why you seem so very surprised every time it happens," she snaps. She doesn't look at him, certain that he will be staring at her with sad eyes._

_"I'll just miss you, that's all."_

_"Well, perhaps you shouldn't," she says before she can think._

_"Are you feeling alright, Mary? You're actin' strange."_

_"Perfectly fine," she insists, lying through her teeth. The fact of the matter is that she saw her parents earlier in the day; encounters with her father always set her on edge, but she doesn't want Bert to even know she's seen him. She knows that even mentioning him will make Bert angry. Ever since the night that her father had forced her to leave her home, Bert can't stand the man. He just can't fathom someone forsaking their daughter for who she chooses to love. And Mary loves him for that, but she does miss her family, even with all of their flaws._

_"D'you really think I can't tell when somethin' is wrong with you?"He looks vaguely insulted by this._

_"There is nothing wrong. I promise," she says, hoping he'll drop it. She just wants to get out of there and get to work._

_"Mary, you're lying t' me."_

_"I'm not!" she insists. "You're being paranoid. Now, please stop."_

_"Love-"_

_"Leave me alone!" she snaps. He looks wounded and she wonders if she should feel badly about it. But honestly, presently she's too annoyed to care._

_"Mary, if we're going t' be married-"_

_She cuts him off, snapping shut her carpetbag with a flourish. "Who said anything about marriage? You haven't even asked. And even if you had, it wouldn't happen for several years at the earliest. I can't stop nannying for you. I won't."_

_"I never asked you to!" he nearly yells. There's a sick sort of satisfaction in seeing her ever kind and calm lover angry at her. "I just want t' know that sometimes I'll come first for you. Stolen moments an' second Tuesdays are all well an' good, but… but I want more, Mary. I'm sorry but that's 'ow I feel. I don't think it's criminal t' want t' be married t' th' woman I love."_

_"Of course it isn't," she replies, anger lacing her every syllable. "But it simply isn't feasible right now. Without any sort of support from my parents, we have to face the fact that we don't have money. We need both of our incomes to survive and no one will hire a married nanny! The risk of abandonment is simply too great. That's the unfortunate truth of the matter. And honestly, I can't say I blame them!"_

_"What exactly are you sayin', Mary?"_

_"I'm saying that as much as I'd like to marry you, we simply don't have the money!"_

_"Money, Mary. I love you an' you love me an' you're goin' t' let somethin' as trivial as _money _get in th' way of our 'appiness? It's just money!"_

_"I'm saying that you need to be patient," she explains with a sigh._

_He rubs his eyes, suddenly looking more tired than she's ever seen him. In fact, he looks defeated. "I don't know 'ow patient I can be anymore, love."_

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_"Nothin'. Never mind," he says quickly, looking as if he wants nothing more than to take it back. But words can't be unsaid._

_"I'll make it easy for you then," Mary answers, storming to the door. She coolly notes that her hands are trembling with rage and fear. "Don't bother waiting for me. I won't be returning."_

_"Mary!"_

_She slams the door in his face and is gone by the time he opens it again._

Mary shakes off the memory of the fight literally; she shakes her head back and forth as if to clear her head of the cobwebs. It had been such a stupid fight, one that, in fact, shouldn't have even happened. And yet it had destroyed everything.

No matter now. She's married, quite contentedly, to another man and Bert has his happiness elsewhere. It isn't something she should dwell on.

"Mary, my darling," Alistair calls from across the yard. "You have a caller."

Mary looks up from the watering pail and wants to faint.

Standing next to her husband, cap in hand, with a small, shy smile on his face is none other than Herbert Alfred.


	5. Chapter 4

**I hope you like!**

**I own nothing.**

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It takes a moment for Mary to find her voice. When she does, it's shaky and faint. "Bert."

"'ello, Mary," he says.

"What are you… you're here."

"I am."

Suddenly, Mary remembers herself. "Oh, where are my manners?" she asks rhetorically, wiping her hands on her skirt. "Bert, this is my husband, Alistair Fleming. Alistair, this is Bert Alfred. He's… an old friend."

Alistair seems oblivious to her hesitation before Bert's description, but Bert gives her an odd look. The two men shake hands, obviously sizing each other up.

"Well, it seems you two must have much to discuss and catch up on. I'll leave you to it," Alistair says. He approaches Mary and kisses her cheek, his hand reaching up to play with a tendril of hair. He's done this exact thing several thousand times now, but it's never bothered her until this very second. It seems unnecessarily territorial. "Let the cook know if you plan on needing another place for dinner."

She shoves him away, hoping that it seems playful. "Of course. Please, go back to your work. I know you're busy."

"I love you."

Bert flinches but so slightly that only Mary would be able to see it. They wait in silence until her husband disappears back into the house. Mary turns on him. "What are you doing here?"

"What, a man can't drop in on an 'old friend?'" The way he says it makes a mockery of the phrase.

"Don't do this," she orders rolling her eyes and returning to her watering.

"Don't do _what_?" He sounds like he genuinely wants to know.

"You're being difficult."

"There was a time you loved it," he teases with a grin. Mary is having none of it.

"Times have changed," she replies curtly.

"I don't know why you're getting so upset with me," he frowns.

"What are you doing here, Bert?"

"I was just in th' neighborhood an' I'd 'eard you were 'ere."

"You were _in the neighborhood_?" she asks incredibly, moving to another planter to water. He follows her.

He gives her a look, closer to a glare than anything she's ever seen him give. It suddenly strikes her that they very well may not know each other anymore. He takes a breath and plasters a pleasant smile on his face. "I was. I thought I'd stop in an' see 'ow you were getting on."

"I don't see why you've suddenly taken an interest when you couldn't even be bothered to respond to the invitation to my wedding," she snaps, surprising even herself. She hadn't realized that his non-response had pained her so badly.

There's a small shift in his posture as he realizes that she's actually hurt and his voice becomes softer. "Mary, I was out of th' country until th' day before your weddin'. I didn't even know you were getting' married until it was-" He stops himself suddenly.

"Until it was what?"

"Nothin'. Never mind."

"Bert," she says quietly.

A blush starts to creep up the back of his neck and he stares at the ground for a really long time before he speaks. "Until it was too late t' stop ya."

Mary nearly drops the watering pail when he says that and spins around to face him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothin'. Never mind. Shouldn't 'ave said anything at all. Not when you're so 'appy. You _are _'appy, aren't you?"

"What a perfectly wretched thing to ask!" Mary cries. "I'm perfectly content, thank you."

"That isn't what I asked, Mary," he points out, eyebrows raised.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Bert!"

"I want you to say you're 'appy! Or if that isn't th' case, I want you t' say that you're not! I want you t' tell me th' truth!"

"I'm fine," she snaps, pursing her lips. "And I don't see how any of this is any of your business, when I haven't seen you in three years!"

"An' 'oo's fault is _that_, Mary? Or 'ave you forgotten that _you_ didn't come back?"

"I _did _come back!" she yells. "Not two months after I left, I came back. And you had already moved on!"

"What th' bloody hell are you talking about?" he wants to know. "I 'aven't seen you once in three years! You said you were leavin', for no bloody reason at all, an' I never saw you again!"

_She bites her lip nervously as she walks to the park. The wind has brought her back to London, perhaps sensing how distraught she still feels about the way she and Bert left things. She has to apologize for the way she treated him, has to make sure that he doesn't hate her. He hadn't deserved any of the hurtful words she had hurled at him in fear. She hadn't wanted to tell him that her father had been to see her, had threatened her with poverty and an existence without magic and left her only days to decide. She could do without money, had done without for nearly a year, but the idea of a world without her magic was terrifying. She was so dependent on it, even for little everyday things, and it was such an important part of who she was. To be without it would change her entirely._

_Still, in this past month, she's realized that though magic may be an important part of her, she simply can't be _happy _without Bert. Just smiling is harder when he's not around. She can do without her magic. She cannot do without him._

_She almost smiles when she sees him, bent over a chalk drawing, but then remembers how they parted and feels the muscles in her abdomen start to clench up nervously._

_He hasn't seen her yet and she hesitates, not wanting to reveal herself just yet._

_"Bert!"_

_Mary starts; she hadn't called his name. She turns to find the source of the voice. The woman has hair that is too dark to be blonde but too light to be considered brunette. Her face is pretty enough, though her best feature is certainly her bright blue eyes and brighter grin._

_Bert wipes his brow and turns to see who's called his name. "Betty!" he yells with joy and jumps to his feet. She flings herself into his arms and he whirls her around. Betty flings her head back and laughs. Mary's mind becomes clouded with jealousy and her eyes fill with tears._

_Betty and Bert. How perfectly… alliterative._

_Bert's full attention is on the young woman in front of him; he can't stop grinning at her. She reminds him that they're starting to attract attention and that he should put her down. They're a handsome couple; well matched in joyful spirits. And they obviously care about each other._

_How could she possibly attempt to break that apart? He's looking at this other woman with such joy. The last time he had looked at her, he had looked as if she had beaten every last drop of happiness out of him._

_She makes up her mind and turns on her heel. Herbert Alfred is obviously far better off without her in his life._

Mary looks up, shocked out of her reverie when Bert gives a bitter laugh. "What?" she glares. She doesn't like to feel as if she's the butt of a joke.

"Mary, that woman y' saw. Betty?"

"Yes?"

"She was never anythin' close t' a replacement for you."

"Which of course explains why you were embracing her in the middle of a park," she bites back sarcastically.

"Sometimes y' really jump t' conclusions, you know that?" he says. "God forbid th' great Mary Poppins ever ask a simple question."

"And what conclusion have I drawn that is so incorrect?" she rolls her eyes.

"Mary," he says, shaking his head. "Betty's my 'alf sister."


	6. Chapter 5

**This has actually been up on tumblr for awhile, but life got a bit crazy, what with moving down to school and all, so I kind of forgot to post it here. Sorry about that!**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"I-I beg your pardon?" Mary stammers. "Half sister?"

He nods slowly.

"You _never _mentioned a half sister!" she accuses him.

He looks around and notices a bench nearby. He nods and she follows him over. When he sits, he grabs her hand and pulls her down with him. "'s not somethin' y' talk about. Not when 'er mother an' your father 'ad 'er while 'e was still married t' your mum."

"Bert?"

"M' father, 'e 'ad an affair. I don't know for 'ow long, but everyone knew an' there was nothin' m' mum could do about it. Betty was born when I was eight. M' dad, 'e flaunted it in m' mum's face, would go out in public with Betty an' 'er mum, buy 'em things we couldn't even afford. I 'ated them both for as long as I could. But Betty… she's just got this way of wormin' 'er way in t' your 'eart."

"Bert-"

"I swore, Mary, swore up an' down that I'd never act like that, would never treat any woman so badly. Actually, I swore up an' down that I'd never get married unless I was absolutely sure she was th' one. An' when I met you… I knew. At least, I thought I knew."

"Bert, I-"

Though she tries once again to speak up, he stops her again. He can't focus on anything but his hands, still clasping hers in his lap. Mary doesn't have the heart to pull away. "I loved you so much, Mary. An' you just disappeared. Did you…"

"Did I what?" Mary asks when he trails off.

A blush starts to creep up his neck and he lets go of her hand as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. "Did y' even love me at all?"

She actually gasps at that, partially in shock that he'd ask such a personal question, but mostly in pain. She grabs his hand again and waits for him to look up at her. "I loved you," she whispers, her voice strangled. "I think I loved you more than either of us knew."

He smiles sadly. "Suppose it doesn't matter now. 's all in th' past."

"Right. In the past," she repeats faintly.

"An' maybe, we could be… friends? We were once, y'know. We could do it again."

"I'd like that," she agrees, squeezing his hand.

_Mary smiles as she puts her umbrella under her arm and knocks on the door. Her smile widens into an all-out grin when Bert opens it nearly immediately. "Mary!" he exclaims happily._

_She drops her carpetbag and her umbrella clatters to the floor when she opens her arms. Quickly as he can, he wraps his arms around her waist, picks her up, and twirls her around. She laughs, bending to kiss his face. As he sets her down, he doesn't relinquish his grip and keeps her pressed up against him so he can bury his face in the hollow at the base of her neck._

_"And just what exactly are you doing?"she asks, tilting her head to allow him better access._

_"I missed you," he mumbles. He takes a deep breath through his nose. "Yep. Y' smell like m' Mary."_

_She laughs. "And who else would I smell like?"_

_"No one!" he replies, straightening up. "At least I 'ope not. I like th' way y' smell!"_

_"Oh, Bert," Mary sighs, sliding her arms up and around his neck._

_"I love you, Mary Poppins, an' I'm so glad you're 'ome."_

_"Bert," she says quietly. "You've forgotten something."_

_"What? What 'ave I forgotten?"_

_She leans in and kisses him softly._

_He chuckles when he regains use of his lips for talking. "Oh no, Mary, I could never forget that. Now, let's get you in an' out of th' cold."_

_She reaches up and strokes his cheek. "You know, I'm actually quite warm."_

_"No, no, Mary," he chides, stooping to pick up her bag and umbrella. "Y' need t' warm up. Now come on in or I'll make you."_

_She raises an eyebrow, her eyes betraying just how interested she is in seeing this, though her voice stays calm and teasing. "Oh, now I'd like to see you try that."_

_"Alright then," he agrees with a nod. The door to his flat is still open, so he tosses her carpetbag and umbrella in, out of the way, before bending to grab her around the legs. _

_Mary's eyes fly open at his forwardness. "Bert!" she cries as he lifts her up and carefully throws her over his shoulder. "Put me down!"_

_He laughs when she starts to hit his back with her fists as he carries her inside and shuts the door with his foot._

_"This is unseemly!" she exclaims. He gently puts her down on the sofa and kisses her. His kiss very quickly pushes any complaints she might have out of her head and she reaches up to put one hand on the back of his neck._

_"Thank you, Mary," he whispers._

_"For what?"she laughs._

_"For comin' back."_

_She pulls away to look at him. "Of course I came back!" she says, her brow furrowing. She speaks her next sentence with perfect certainty. "I will _always_ come back."_

_She kisses him again before he can respond._

Mary blushes a little at the memory and reminds herself that their once easy and playful relationship is in the past. She twists the rings on her finger nervously.

"Y' look good, Mary," he says quietly. "Really good."

"You do too," she replies. "Different. But good."

"So this man, your… your 'usband. 'e treats you right?" To his credit, Bert only stumbles a little bit when he says the word husband.

Mary smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "He's wonderful. You'd like him."

He nods, but his face very clearly shows his doubt.

"Enough about me," Mary changes the subject. "What have you been doing since I last saw you?"

"Oh, bit of this, bit of that, really. Nothin' special."

"You mentioned you were out of the country earlier. Where did you go?"

"'s not really important."

"Bert, yes it is."

"'s really not."

"It is to me."

"Well, after you… left, I started 'anging around with Betty an' 'er two boys an' sometimes I'd draw 'em pictures. Started tellin' 'em stories t' go along with it. Next thing I know, I've got enough of a story an' enough pictures that Betty bound 'em up without tellin' me and sent 'em t' a publisher in New York. I went over there t' talk t' them about another one. That's where I was when… when that invitation of yours came out."

"You wrote a book?" Though Bert looks wary, as if he might have said the wrong thing and overstepped some new, unwritten boundary by mentioning her wedding, but Mary is focused on his achievements and can't hide her amazement.

He starts twisting his hat in his hands again. "'s really not anything. Just a kid's book. 's more fun than anythin'."

"Bert, that's fantastic! I am _so_ proud of you. Congratulations!"

He grins. "Thanks, Mary. Y'know, it seems more real now that I've told you."

She threads her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder momentarily. "I've missed you," she admits quietly.

He turns his head and brushes his lips against her hair; it's not quite a kiss, but it's no accident. "I've missed you too, Mary. More 'n you know."

"I'm sorry, Bert, for all the pain I've caused you. I wish I could say it was entirely unintentional, but some of those things I said, I said them to hurt you. But you should know that if I could take everything back, I would."

"_Everything_?" he asks. She looks at him quizzically, so he continues quietly. "Even that you loved me?"

"No!" Mary exclaims. "Not that. _Never_ that."

"Good," he says with a smile. "That's good."

"Mary?"

Both Bert and Mary jump at Alistair's voice and quickly put a bit of distance between their bodies. While it's perfectly natural for them to be near each other, both are well aware that it would look horribly suspicious now that she's married.

"Yes, darling?" she calls, standing up. Bert makes a face at the pet name.

"_Darling_?" he teases her in a whisper. "You call 'im _darling_?"

She turns around and glares at him. "Oh, and I suppose you could come up with better."

"I'm not goin' t' 'elp you come up with pet names for your 'usband!" he laughs. "I love you, Mary, but not that much."

She freezes.

"As a friend, of course," he quickly adds. She smiles in relief.

"I should probably see what he wants," she says. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "No, you two should spend some time together now that I've stolen you away for th' entire afternoon. Can't imagine 'e's terribly thrilled about it."

"Bert-"

"No, no, love. Go spend time with your 'usband," he instructs. "But 'ow about you let me take you to a real, proper tea. Say Tuesday?"

She grins. "I'd like that. Shall I walk you out?"

"I can find my way," he responds. Quick as a flash, he presses a kiss to her cheek. "It's good t' see you, Mary. I'll see you on Tuesday."

She grants him a small smile and he leaves, whistling a familiar tune that she can't quite place. When he's out of sight, she exhales shakily. She brings a hand up to her cheek; though there is absolutely nothing there, she can still feel the imprint of his lips burning on her skin.


	7. Chapter 6

**I own nothing.**

* * *

"So how do you know this Mr. Alfred?" Alistair asks that night at dinner.

Mary looks up from her plate and delicately dabs her lips with a napkin. "As I mentioned, he's an old friend."

"How did the two of you meet?"

"It was a long time ago," Mary dodges the question. "He'd often help me entertain the children I nannied."

"You've been friends that long," he comments. "You never mentioned him."

"Alistair," Mary sighs. She can hear just the smallest bit of jealousy in his voice and wants to get rid of it. She hates feeling as if she might have done something wrong. "I didn't mention him because we had a falling out. It was a long time ago. Whatever history Bert and I might have, it's in the past and it will stay there. We are friends and nothing more; you may accept my explanation and trust me, or you may not. The choice is yours, but I will not tolerate distrust and jealousy in my marriage. I don't think I owe you any more explanation than what I've given you; I've never once asked about the other women in your life before me, nor have you told me, so I don't think that I should be held to that standard."

He takes her hand. "You're right. As usual. And I'm sorry. It wasn't fair of me at all; but the thought of sharing you at all… well, you'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid it's a bit of a primal instinct. I'll get better, Mary. At the very least I shall try. I love you, for your past as well as your present and I'll get better at this. I promise."

She doesn't point out the pie crust nature of his promise, choosing instead to kiss him. "You don't have to share me; I'm _your_ wife."

Alistair's eyes light up. "So you are!" he exclaims happily and pulls her into his lap. "How on earth did I get so very lucky?"

"Hard work and good timing," she retorts with a smile.

"Well, I've always had impeccable timing," he comments before kissing her.

0ooo0

Mary nervously checks her hat before leaving the house, making sure that it's properly situated on her head. Though she could have her pick of any hat, she still prefers her customary one with the flowers and cherries. It's comforting to have the old thing on her head. She's dressed in a staid gray coat, but there's a red ribbon threaded through the high collar of her blouse.

She manages to find her way to the small café they've agreed on—no jolly holidays, not anymore. She hesitates slightly, glancing around the seating area and smiles in recognition when she catches his eye. He stands and holds up a hand in greeting, effectively cutting off any chance of escape she might have had.

"Hello, Bert," she says as she reaches the table.

"Mary," he grins, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. Then he leaps around the table and pulls out her chair for her; she has to smile—three years later and he's still the same bundle of gangly, spastic limbs that she remembers. His arms and legs have always been long and gawky and his movements often read as if he doesn't know what to do with them. That is, until he comes up with a purpose; when he moves with decision, those same gangly arms become cords of muscles, strong and forceful.

_She doesn't think she's ever felt this tense in her whole life. She's done many nerve-wracking things before, but none quite so incredibly stressful as this. What had possessed her the last time she had been in London? Perhaps it was just the thought of losing him, or the fact that she was headed back to her family, but for whatever reason, she had embraced him tightly before leaving and with his ear right by her lips, she had murmured the three words she had been dying to say. But before he could respond, she had disappeared._

_"'ello, Mary."_

_She whirls around, her hand flying to her heart. "Bert! You startled me."_

_He leans casually and confidently against a wall, watching her with curious eyes. There's a new glint in them, one she's never seen before, vaguely triumphant if that's possible. "Really, now? I didn't mean to."_

_"It's quite alright," she says quickly. She can't quite meet his eyes. Oh, how could she have been so stupid?_

_"Mary Poppins," he comments, studying her carefully. "I do believe you're afraid of me!"_

_"I-I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," she responds, slightly stammering. His body language reads cockiness all over. For the first time, she notices just how strong his arms look, how at home he seems in his skin. This is not the boy she once teased in a park; he's a grown man and could easily overpower her if he chose._

_His face softens as he notices how uncomfortable she is. "Mary, it's just me. Just ol' Bert. No need t' be frightened."_

_"I'm not frightened," she insists. "I… trust you, Bert."_

_He gives her a boyish smile. "Mary, if I do somethin'… I don't want… well, I 'ope… I 'ope I'm not pressing my advantage if I do it." Suddenly he loses all confidence and becomes her bumbling Bert again._

_"What?" she asks encouragingly._

_He lurches forward and presses his lips to hers. Though she's always had her powers, this, Mary thinks, is an entirely new sort of magic._

At first, they chat about inconsequential things, the weather, current fashion, music. It's pleasant but so different from their old relationship.

"So…"Bert says, taking a sip of tea. "There is one thing I've been meaning t' ask."

"Oh?"

"'ow did you an'… I'm sorry, I've forgotten 'is name now…"

"Alistair," Mary fills in, though she knows that Bert is wonderful with names and is probably lying.

"Right. 'ow did th' two of you meet?"

She picks up her napkin and studies it carefully as she speaks, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. "My father introduced us."

Out of the corner of her eye she sees a shattered expression cross his face before he can hide it. "Oh. So you started talking t' 'im again."

"He's my father, Bert," she responds. "You know how difficult being estranged was for me."

Bert sighs. "You're right. I do. I just… You deserve so much better n' that, Mary. Th' way 'e treated you, it wasn't right."

"He's family."

"That doesn't make it okay, Mary! An' you, of all people, should know it!"

"You're making a scene," she hisses.

His face falls, disappointment flickering in his eyes. "You're right, Mary. I'm sorry. So you an' your 'usband were introduced by your father. 'e work with 'im?"

"Alistair's father worked with mine long ago. Alistair's a professor. He's quite intelligent." Mary doesn't know why she feels like she needs to sell Bert on her husband, but she does. She just wants his approval—something she's not entirely sure she'll ever get. His face tells her that she's overselling.

He pays the bill and they stand, leaving the restaurant together. "So long as 'e makes you 'appy, I s'pose."

"He does," she informs him quickly. "We're quite content."

"There's that word again!"

"What word?"

"_Content_," he almost spits. "I ask if you're 'appy, y' give me content! That's not th' same thing at all!"

"Perhaps it is," Mary replies loftily.

"It isn't. Mary, all I want t' know, is that you're _'appy_."

"Bert, stop."

"No!" he insists, his mouth hardening into a line. He's not giving up. Not this time. "All I need t' know is that you're 'appier than I ever could 'ave made you. If I know that then maybe…"

There's an awkward pause. He clearly wants her to ask him to finish her sentence, but she refuses to give him that. She knows what he's going to say; she can see his fight to let her go in his eyes. Finally she speaks up. "I am happy. Perhaps not in a way that seems so obvious to you, but I am happy. I have a comfortable home and an adoring husband. There is no reason I shouldn't be happy."

"So why does it sound more like you're tryin' t' convince yourself an' not me?" he asks.

She frowns and lashes out, "And what do you know about me anymore, Herbert Alfred? We haven't seen each other in three years. You know nothing of me!"

"I know plenty of you, Mary Poppins, whether or not you like it," he snaps back. "No matter what you tell people, no matter 'ow much you wish it weren't so, once upon a time, you loved me an' I loved you. An' like it or not, I know you. I know 'ow your cheeks get spotty an' your brows knit t'gether when you're angry. I know y' bite yer lip when you're nervous an' that y' can't stand t' be cold. An' I know that if I were t' kiss you right now, if I found that exact right spot on your jaw, I could make y' sigh, an' if I nipped your ear-"

"That's_ enough, _Bert," she orders, her voice as commanding and forceful as it's ever been.

"You think I _like _it, Mary? Y'think I _want _t' know all this? It was bad enough when I knew it an' you were gone. But now I 'ave all this knowledge an' you're married. 's not stuff I should know about another man's wife! An' th' thought that someone else might know you like that, like I do, it makes me feel sick!"

"What do you want me to do, Bert? I can't do anything about it! I'm married and you knew that when you made the decision to come back into my life!"

"I want you," he yells, "to, for once in your life, forget about what's right an' what's wrong an' do what will make _you _'appy. Just once, Mary, forget everyone else."

"And you think that would leave me with you?" she asks, not bothering to wait for an answer. "I _am_ doing what is best for me, what will make me happiest."

"Mary-"

"I think it would be best if I left," she says, tucking her umbrella under her arm.

"Mary-"

"Please don't call again until you're prepared to behave properly."

She strides away, careful to keep her posture strong and resolved as she leaves him. But once she's out of sight, she has to stop and brush hot, angry tears out of her eyes.


	8. Chapter 7

**I'm so sorry about the delay!**

By the time Mary gets back home, she's worked herself up into quite a frightful mess. How _dare _he behave in such a manner! Showing up out of nowhere, shoehorning his way back into her life, reminding her of all that had been, tempting her with the past! But nothing is the same. Not anymore.

And to say those things, to make it clear how very intimately he remembers her! To remind her of what she once had, what she might have had…

No! She loves Alistair. She loves her husband. Of course she does. It's just that Bert was her first love and you can never really shake that. That's it.

"Mary?" Alistair calls from his study when she unlocks the door and enters the foyer. "Is that you?"

"Yes," she responds, swallowing her emotions as best she can.

Within seconds, he's left his study to kiss her. "I'm glad you're home. This place feels empty when you're not here. It would seem I've gotten used to you."

She smiles weakly. "So it does."

"Are you feeling alright, Mary? You look a bit… well, shaky is a good a word as any, I suppose."

"Fine. I'm just fine," she insists.

"Mary, you don't look-"

She just wants him to leave her alone, to stop _talking _to her. She wants to be alone with her thoughts. But he has that look that says he's hell-bent on getting her to talk. Mary doesn't want to talk. She wants to do anything _but _talk. Because talking will inevitably lead to her saying something she regrets—not that she even knows what that would be.

So Mary does the only thing she can think of; she kisses him. Kisses him until her lips feel swollen and he shuts up, too preoccupied with maneuvering her through the house to their bedroom to wonder about why she had looked so upset.

Her stomach churns. She knows that what she's doing is incredibly wrong. She shouldn't be using something that is supposed to be an expression of love as a defense mechanism, but she had panicked.

Well, she's come too far now, so she does her best to shut off the part of her brain that is protesting and surrenders herself to pure sensation.

0ooo0

"Mary, darling?"

She hears Alistair saying her name, but it doesn't really register and she keeps staring out the window.

"Mary?" He calls her name a couple more time before she realizes that he probably wants a response.

"Oh! My apologies. My thoughts were elsewhere," she apologizes. She doesn't mention that they're back in the café with Bert.

"Clearly!" he laughs and kisses her cheek. "You've got a letter from that friend of yours… what was his name again?"

"Bert?" she frowns. Why on earth would she have a letter from him?

"Right. Him. Anyway, here it is." He hands her the letter and stands awkwardly, clearly waiting for her to open it. Mary raises an eyebrow; she isn't about to read it in front of her husband, especially not when she's terrified of the contents. "Right! Sorry. I'll be in my study. Let me know if you need anything."

She waits until he leaves the sitting room and then opens the envelope with shaky hands. One corner of her mouth quirks up when she sees the familiar messy scrawl. She used to tease him relentlessly about his illegible handwriting, but she had quickly become accustomed to deciphering it. It pleases her to note that she hasn't lost the ability.

_Mary,_

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm incredibly sorry. I don't know how many times I have to write that before you believe me, but I am being honest and I hope you know it. You were right, of course. You always are. I behaved badly and I'm sorry now._

_You're right. You're married and whatever we once had, it's in the past. You're not my Mary anymore and I have to get used to that idea. As much as it pains me, you're his, for better or worse. I'll get used to it. Just be patient with me._

_I'll understand if you never want to see me again. The way I've treated you the past few days—showing up out of the blue and all of that—it wasn't fair to you. I'd understand if you're still angry with me—I am. But I really hope one day, Mary, you'll be able to forgive me. What we did have, different though it may be now, was the best thing that ever happened to me and I would hate to think that I've mucked it up so completely that it's ruined._

_And now we come to my second reason for writing you. As much as I want to patch up our relationship and be friends again (properly now mind you—none of what's happened this time round), you've no doubt guessed by now, I'm still mad about you and I probably always will be. You're the only woman I've ever loved and I don't see that changing. And that's the truth of it, Mary. I love you. You're married now and I love you. Madly, unselfishly, and forever._

_I want you to have everything you've ever wished for, and you've made it clear what that is. I want you and Alistair to have your best shot at happiness and I'd never want to ruin anything for you, so I think it's best if I leave again. I've decided to go back to America and discuss some book business with the publisher. I'll probably see the rest of the year out there._

_I'll be leaving next week. You don't have to come see me off or anything. But it would be nice to hear from you, if you've decided to forgive me. I'm at the same old address. Some things never change._

_Yours,  
Bert_

A teardrop lands on the B of Bert and soaks in, fanning out the ink and blurring the letter. _This _is the Bert she remembers—the Bert she fell in love with. The man willing to take more than his share of the blame, willing to sacrifice his own happiness for hers. How could she have ever treated him so poorly? He deserves so much more than what she's done to him. He deserves the best. At the time, she had thought it was her. Now she's not so sure.

Still, she can't be angry with him. She could never be truly angry with him. Not when he's always been so forgiving of her mistreatment.

She stares at the letter for a good long time, feeling tears prick behind her eyes as the words swim in front of them.

"Mary, darling?" Alistair asks gently, poking his head back into the room.

Mary looks up and sees him gazing worriedly at her. "I'm fine," she assures him, but it's unconvincing at best.

"Shall we try that again? Perhaps this time with a little more honesty? Was the letter bad news?"

She folds up the letter before he can see it. "No, no. The opposite of bad. Just a bit surprising, that's all." Frowning, she stands and tucks the letter into the pocket of her coat. "Alistair, you don't feel that I've… well, that I've mistreated you, do you?"

"Of course not, darling! You're every bit as perfect as the day I met you." He pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll never see you as anything less."

She allows him to wrap her in his arms, but can't help feel a little uncomfortable with that letter seemingly burning a hole in her pocket.

Standing enveloped in her husband's embrace, Mary comes to a decision. She has to apologize to Bert for her horrible treatment. All he has ever done was love her, and she had never truly acknowledged what that meant. She does want him in her life, in whatever capacity that might be. The past few years, thinking that he had shoved her to the back or his mind or—even worse—completely moved on, have been torture for her. To be honest, even meeting Alistair hadn't eased the sting, and now, knowing that he still feels the same way, Mary can't allow him to spend a year or more feeling the way she has for three years. And that isn't something that can be done in writing.

She has to see him just once more before he leaves. Just once so they can put the past behind them and move on. It's for the best, really.

Mary leans in and kisses Alistair's cheek then pulls away and decides she'll visit Bert the very next day.


	9. Chapter 8

Mary bites her lip, staring at the familiar door as though she might manage to draw the courage to knock on it simply by looking at it. She's put off this visit for days and can't put it off any longer. Before she can knock, the door swings open. Mary jumps as she comes face to face with the blonde from the park nearly four years ago. "Oh, pardon me!" she exclaims.

Betty takes one look at her face and smiles. "You must be Mary Poppins."

Mary smiles. It feels nice to hear her maiden name, but she does feel like she needs to make the correction, if only for propriety's sake. "Mary Fleming now, actually, but yes, I'm she."

"Well, whatever your name is, I feel as though I already know you! Bert's told me so much about you."

"Oh?"

"Betty?" Bert comes to the door and stops dead when he sees her. "Mary."

She offers up a small, apologetic smile. "Hello, Bert."

"I was just on my way out," Betty says, moving past Mary. "It was nice to finally put a face to your name. Hopefully I'll see you again."

"It was a pleasure," Mary replies, but the other woman is already bustling away, leaving Mary alone with Bert. They stare at each other in complete silence for a moment.

"Mary, I'm-" Bert starts to apologize, but she cuts him off.

"I apologize, Bert. I haven't been fair to you; I never have. You've only ever treated me kindly and I've abused that."

"Mary, don't say that!" he exclaims. "I should 'ave said what I did. What I said to ya on Tuesday wasn't kindness at all. It was jealousy, pure and simple. I let 'ow I feel about you get in the way of our friendship an' I promised you I wouldn't do that."

Mary wants to point out that she had promised him a life together and that hadn't exactly panned out either, but doesn't. Instead, she says, "But you don't have to go running off to New York."

"Yes, I do," he replies with a shrug. "Mary, I can't watch you with him. Not yet."

"Bert-"

"No, Mary, 's all right, I just… I need some time."

"I understand."

"Would you… do you want to come in?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Only if you want to."

He steps aside. Mary knows that she probably shouldn't, that she should go home now that they've made their amends, but she steps past him anyway.

She's hit by memories the moment she steps through the door. Almost nothing has changed since she had stormed out. And yet, even with those horrible memories, it still feels like home. Falling into habit, she quickly crosses and sits on the sofa. He sits next to her.

"I'm sorry, Bert," Mary says quietly after a moment of silence.

"For what?"

"You deserved better from me."

"Mary-"

"No, let me explain. Please?"

He shrugs a little and settles into the sofa, an unspoken invitation to go on.

"I saw my father that day."

"Your father? When?"

" The day I… well, the day I left. I know I should have told you. I should have explained, but I didn't want you to know I'd seen him. You hated him so much and I thought you'd be angry with me."

"Mary, I wouldn't 'ave-"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have, would you?" She looks up at him and the corner of her mouth turns upwards, but it clearly isn't a smile. "You've always been so good. Looking back, it wasn't the right choice, but it seemed like the only option at the time. I should have told you."

"Would it 'ave made any difference?" He's clearly trying to comfort her and he obviously wants to reach out for her, but he's holding back.

"That's the thing, Bert. You see, he gave me a choice; he said I could have my magic or I could have you. He promised he see to it that I wouldn't have both. And I…"

Mary can't continue; to say it out loud, to admit it to his face, she knows he's going to be hurt, that once again she's going to hurt him.

"You chose magic," Bert finishes for her. Mary winces but obviously doesn't deny or defend it. How can she? "It's all right, Mary," he says. "I understand."

"I didn't mean to, Bert, you have to understand." Mary doesn't know where her words are coming from. They're pouring out of her mouth without a single thought; she just needs him to understand. "I truly didn't mean to. But I was frightened and money was so tight, when you mentioned marriage-"

"Blimey, could I 'ave 'ad worse timing?"

"It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault. I let our argument get too heated and I should never have kept my father's visit a secret. I never meant to leave. I just panicked. I-"

"Mary, I get it!" he exclaims, grabbing her hand and squeezing it comfortingly. "You don't 'ave to explain yourself t' me. I remember your father, I know 'ow 'e was. And I don't blame ya. Between the two of us, we put you in a right awful position. I just wish you would 'ave come to me. I never would 'ave pushed ya like that if I'd 'ave known. I just thought, if we were… well, if we were married, we wouldn't 'ave to 'ide. You could 'ave stayed with me and there'd be no scandal or anything like that and maybe one day your dad would come around to th' idea. But obviously I was wrong and I'm sorry."

Mary laughs. She feels lighter than she has in years. "I believe this is _my _apology, Mr. Alfred, not yours."

"Well, Mrs. Fleming, seems to me we both 'ave things to apologize for and I just don't think it's fair of you t' try and hog the apology!"

Her married name brings her back down to earth. She's married and no amount of apology or laughter will change that. "I'm glad we got that sorted, Bert."

"I'm just 'appy I didn't do something to 'urt ya! I thought what with the talk of marriage and all…"

"No," she insists. "It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with timing."

"That's good to 'ear, even now."

"I loved you, Bert. Had you asked any other time…"

"It's in th' past, Mary. No sense in dwelling."

"You're right. So New York? Taking America by storm?"

"I've got another book deal in the works, actually."

"That's fantastic, Bert! Really. I'm so proud of you." His ears turn pink as he tries to demur. "I'd love to read your book. Do you have an extra copy? I'll gladly pay you."

"Mary Fleming, you'll never 'ave to pay for anything from me as long as I live," he swears. "But, uh, the book is…"

"It's what?"

He jumps up and grabs a book off the small bookshelf before shyly handing it to her. He paces while she looks at the cover. Scrawled across the night sky, looking as though it's written in stars, is the title, _The Luckiest Sweep_, and below, a sweep covered in soot leans on one of his brooms and grins. A delicate gloved hand, attached to someone off the page, waves a handkerchief a beautiful pink handkerchief. Mary feels her mouth turn up as she opens the book and follows the nameless sweep as he chases the handkerchief through the pages—to the outskirts of London, over a river, through an orchard, into and out of a chalk drawing, to a dance in the stars, until finally he makes it back to the rooftop where the story began—until finally the bearer of the handkerchief is revealed.

Mary gasps and her hand flies to her mouth. Her own face smiles at her from the pages, though in the drawing she is grinning at the sweep and congratulating him for finding her.

The last page was a picture of them whirling around the rooftop, with the text, "_Dancing with her, he knew he wasn't just a lucky sweep. He was the luckiest."_

"Oh, _Bert_," she sighs.

"You're… you're not mad, are you?"

"Of course not! Why on earth would you say something like that?"

"Well, 's kind of personal…"

Mary rises to her feet and crosses to him so she can kiss his cheek. "I love it. Thank you for showing me."

"You can keep it, if you want. I've got a few copies."

Mary smiles down at the book. "Well, then will you sign it for me?" Without a word, he grabs a pen and scrawls his name on the inside cover. She grins at the familiar chicken scratch. "When do you leave for New York?"

"Tomorrow morning, I'm afraid."

"Oh! I should let you be then. You probably have a million things to do."

"Nah. I've been pretty good for once. You don't 'ave t' go if you don't want. I… well, truth is it's nice to 'ave you back 'ere. I've missed you, Mary Poppins."

She looks up at him and smiles. "I've missed you too, Herbert Alfred, and I'll miss you the entire time you're in New York. But I really should be going."

He nods stiffly. "I don't want to keep you."

She wonders when their faces became so close. It seems like they were just on opposite sides of the room, but suddenly here he is in front of her, that familiar twinkle in his eye. Her breath starts coming faster and she feels a long forgotten flutter in her stomach. "I hope you'll write me while you're in New York. We've only just found each other again."

"I will. I promise. But only if you promise to write me back."

"To every letter," she promises.

"Well, goodbye, Mary Poppins."

"Not goodbye, farewell. There _is _a difference, you know."

"I won't forget it."

She doesn't know what possesses her, but she presses her lips to his. He's stunned, but it only takes him a moment to respond. The kiss is short and chaste, far chaster than ever occurred in the course of their relationship. The only contact between them is their lips, but Mary feels warm and fuzzy from her toes to the top of her head.

She jerks away when she remembers herself.

"Mary?"

"Nothing has changed," she announces. "This changes nothing. You're going to New York and I'm married."

"Right," he agrees. "You're right."

"Please write me, Bert. I won't feel right until I know you're there safely."

"Of course," he agrees.

Mary offers up one last smile and leaves quickly, the feel of his lips still burning on hers.


End file.
